


Ten Minutes In Heaven

by hapax (hapaxnym)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Dialogue-Only, First Kiss, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Meet-Cute, Non-binary OC (mentioned), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, fatphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 14:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30124293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapaxnym/pseuds/hapax
Summary: At a near-graduation party, a pack of drunk high school seniors play a variant on Spin The Bottle.  Awkward, fat, queer, and outcast, Aziraphale is locked in a dark closet with the cool goth Crowley as a joke.Turns out that the joke is on the bullies.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 154
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	Ten Minutes In Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> CW: homophobic slurs, homophobia, fatphobia, basically all the horridness a pack of teenage bullies could come up with. Also, Crowley does a swear.
> 
> Thank you to crawly for the beta!

“I’m very sorry, Crowley.”

“S’not necessary. Wasn’t your idea.”

“Well, no, but it cannot be any fun for you, to be locked in a closet with … someone like me. Everyone laughing at us. It must be humiliating for you.”

“But not you?”

“Oh, I’m used to the pointing and laughing. Comes with the whole, er, being-me situation. Besides which, under any other circumstances, someone like you would never even know my name.”

“Yeah. Uh. Speaking of which—”

“Aziraphale. Aziraphale Fell. I know it’s a mouthful. That’s why they, Gabe and his crowd, call me Az. When they’re not busy calling me … well, you heard them.”

“Fuck them for a flock of wankers. Nobody should be using words like that. D’you want me to call you Az, then?”

“Aziraphale, please. But you needn’t call me anything. It’s not like you’re ever going to speak to me again, after ten minutes from now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m Aziraphale Fell, the weird fat faggot and perpetual butt of the joke, and you’re A. J. Crowley, the cool mysterious goth heart-throb and burn-out.”

“Burn-out? Ugh. You sound like my Gran. Does your entire knowledge of high-school social life come out of Eighties teen novels?”

“… maybe …”

“But why, angel? You are in high school. You can talk to other Real Live High School Students.”

“No, I can’t. As you have so astutely observed, my ‘talking to people’ skills are abysmal.”

“...”

“ … why did you call me ‘angel’? Is it because of my name?”

“…”

“I don’t mind. But if you’re making fun at my expense, I’d like to at least know the joke.”

“NO! S’not a joke! It’s … cuzusortalooklikenangel.”

“I beg your pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I … just think you sort of look like an angel? Y’know, all soft and cloud-fluffy, an’ your hair does this whole poufy white-gold … thingy?”

“…”

“’M sorry. I didn’t mean to call you that. Out loud. I … just kinda noticed you. Earlier. Um. And the word ‘angel’ popped into my head. Prob’ly cuz my Gran has all these pictures all over the house. With, like, angels and stuff. Won’t say it again. ”

“Anthony J. Crowley, that is almost certainly the nicest thing that anyone has ever said about me.”

“Ngk. ‘M not nice.”

“So, you live with your … grandmother, then?”

“Grandparent. Gran. They’re … well, not your business, is it?”

“I apologize. I didn’t intend to pry.”

“No. Sorry. S’just … well, you know how people are.”

“Indeed I do.”

“Yeah, probably better’n most.”

“You have a very nice laugh.”

“…”

“Well, it’s true. I’m glad I got to hear it.”

“Angel, you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Or what? You’ll never talk to me again?”

“This is exactly why that lot out there pull this sort of crap on you. Why’d you let them, anyhow? Why did you even come to this party? You’ve got to know that, uh, that …”

“That nobody actually wants me here? That I was only invited to be mocked? Yes, I may be, er, out-of-touch, but I am not a fool, either.”

“Nobody thinks you’re stupid. Isn’t that the problem? With Gabe and Sandy and their hangers-on, I mean. That you get top marks in everything?”

“One of the problems, at any rate. Along with my clothes being out of style and my manner of speech being too pedantic and my body being the wrong shape, and not caring about sports or television shows and … well, you know. Unnatural pervert damned to eternal perdition, and all that.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“Not … usually. Although the everlasting torments of Hell do sound preferable to another month of gymn classes. Oh, you’re doing that delightful laugh again.”

“Shaddup! Um. So why are you here, then?”

“Ah, well. I’m scheduled to graduate in a few weeks, after all. I thought that I might as well at least try to attend one typical adolescent, er, ‘blow-out’.”

“Not a ‘blow-out.’ S’a party, angel. Not a particularly good one, neither.”

“No. It doesn’t appear to be all that raucous, at any rate. Cheap beer and bebop from someone’s mobile device. I was just about to give it up as a bad job and go home, where I could put on my preferred music and help myself to my mother’s excellent wine cabinet—”

“Your mum lets you drink?”

“There’s no rule against it. In moderation.”

“Huh. Mine chucked me out of the house just for asking questions.”

“I am terribly sorry to hear that. No parent should ever reject their child like that.”

“Eh, prob’ly was for the best. In the long run. Me’n’Gran, we get on like a house on fire.”

“If you say so, my dear. I still think it is unforgivable.”

“Ngk.”

“You keep making that sound. Are you quite all right?

“… You said you were heading home?”

“Oh! Yes. Then those boys summoned me over for this ridiculous so-called game. And I thought, why ever not? Best case scenario, they’ll never persuade anyone to be locked in a closet with me, and I’ll have a pleasant ten minutes to myself—”

“Oi!”

“—and there’s always the possibility that I might meet someone interesting and have a halfway decent conversation, and that was better than anything else I had planned for the evening.”

“… and did you?”

“Oh, yes. Far more than halfway, I’d say.”

“Mmm.”

“But what about you, dear boy? Oh! You are a boy, are you not? Rude of me to make assumptions on the basis of appearance.”

“Um. Usually. Yeah. Thanks for asking, though.”

“Of course. But how on earth did those rudesbys trick you in here with me?”

“ … didn’t trick me.”

“I don’t understand. It’s not my place to make personal observations, but I doubt very much that you need to be locked in a dark closet to experience, ahem, ‘ten minutes in Heaven’ with anyone you fancy.”

“Didn’t like the way they were talking about you. Reminded me of how people talk about my Gran.”

“Oh. I suppose that was … very chivalrous of you, then.”

“M not … that thing you said.”

“Of course not.”

“S’like I said. I thought you were … cute. An’ in class sometimes … I like to hear what you say. You’re … interesting. That’s all.”

“Oh, my dear. I find myself speechless.”

“Not so far as I can tell. … You have a nice laugh too.”

“Thank you.”

“…”

“…”

“So … Was all you were … hoping for? A ‘halfway decent conversation’?”

“Well, yes. After all, it isn’t like I could expect … you know. Anything … intimate.”

“Not?”

“My dear, it’s not like I ever have. Or am ever likely to.”

“ … would you want to?”

“I … don’t know. I’ve never … really thought about it.”

“Never?”

“I suppose that I am now.”

“… and?”

“Crowley, I wish you wouldn’t tease. You’ve been very kind to me. Please don’t … “

“Keep telling you, ‘m not kind. Or nice. Or any of those four-letter words.”

“Are you saying that you … would?”

“If you want to.”

“But WHY? Crowley, even if you were attracted to men—and I’ve never heard of any other queer students in our class, and I’m fairly certain that I would have that thrown at me by now if there were—why would you, why would anyone, want to kiss ME?”

“Eh, I’m not fussy.”

“Well. Thank you very much for that. I am not desirous of pity, however.”

“No, no, didn’t mean THAT. Stupid words. Meant … don’t care much about gender. But I am fussy. Very fussy, me. Don’t go ‘round kissing just anybody. Lots an’ lots of people I don’t wanna kiss. Everybody else at this party, to start with.”

“But you would like to kiss me?”

“ … yeah.”

“Truly?”

“I said yes, angel. Don’t wanna fight about it.”

“All right.”

“What?”

“All right, I would very much like to be kissed by you. To kiss you.”

“Right. Right. Okay, then.”

“…”

“Where’s your face, angel? I mean, s’dark in here. Can’t see a thing.”

“Here. Take my hand. There you are … oh, do you still have those ridiculous sunglasses on? Inside a dark closet?”

“Oi! It’s my style!”

“Yes, dear. Oh. Your hair. It’s very soft, isn’t it? May I touch it?”

“Touch anything you like, angel. That’s… that’ssss… mmmph … this all right?”

“Rather. Might you do that again? Oh. Oh, my.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“Crowley?”

“Mmm…”

“Dear boy?”

“Sssstop talking…”

“Crowley, someone is banging on the closet door.”

“Tell ‘em to go away.”

“They’re making quite a lot of noise, my dear. I think our ten minutes are up.”

“Don’t care.”

“Darling—may I call you ‘darling?—oh, that feels everso nice. Darling, if you are amenable, I think that there are any number of places we could … continue this discussion … that would be more comfortable than this closet.”

“All right, angel. Anywhere you want to go.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Library AU is still ongoing, promise!
> 
> But once I gave my brain permission to write human AUs, it kinda started fizzing ...


End file.
